Little Boy Blue
by jd517
Summary: A companion piece to In the Name of the Father, covering the same period of time from Martin's point of view
1. London Calling

Disclaimer: Buffalo Pictures owns Doc Martin and all the characters and story lines. The song lyrics quoted in chapter 3 belong to James Taylor. I own nothing but my imagination.

Author's note: This is a companion piece to In the Name of the Father, covering the same time period from Martin's point of view. Please read that one first for the structure of the plot. It will remain consistent to that story but elements of Series 5 that are not inconsistent with my plot may get worked in along the way.

**Little Boy Blue**

**Chapter 1 – London Calling**

It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. Louisa triumphant, holding the baby and cuddling him like she had been doing it for years. The maternal instinct we all pooh-poohed so facilely in medical training was revealing itself right before my very eyes. She had such a look of love on her face. I could hardly believe I was witnessing this, or that I had so stupidly thought there would be no harm in missing it.

The ambulance attendants were loading the stretcher into the ambulance and I suddenly realized that I couldn't let this moment end, not yet. I couldn't imagine watching the ambulance race away with Louisa and the baby inside, even if I could follow in my car. Having come so close to losing them both forever, I simply couldn't bear to be parted, not from my son. My God, that was an astonishing word to say, my SON. My flesh and blood, my DNA, my Y-chromosome, my legacy, my permanent reminder of the exquisite love Louisa and I had shared all too briefly.

I clambered into the back of the ambulance, not allowing myself to think about what this would mean. I was still mentally holding my breath, waiting for Louisa to send me away. And lingering in the back of my mind was the nagging reality that I was due in London. My work was there, my future was there, and very shortly indeed the removal vans with all my worldly goods would be there too.

X X X X X

It was a relief to see them settled in hospital – the proper place for medical care in my view. I had to laugh at the fact that Louisa had delivered our child on the grimy davenport in a god-forsaken pub after the warnings I had given her against trying to deliver at home She'd shown me, by God. A bit of my own back, not that it was entirely in Louisa's control.

The mantra in my mind as the medical staff checked them both over and came to the same conclusions I had - that both were fit and healthy and that the delivery for all its drama had been relatively unremarkable – was "don't muck this up." I was on eggshells. For someone who doesn't give a damn what nearly anyone thinks of what I do, this was an unusual position in which to find myself. But despite my declaration to Louisa in the pub, which I had to admit might not have been particularly well-timed, I still had no real idea to what extent my presence would be tolerated. I scarcely dared hope I might actually be welcome.

It was easier to focus on their medical care – that I understood and could contribute to in a meaningful way. But I couldn't help but sneak furtive glances at the baby. I had learned of the pregnancy so late in the game and been shut out of its details so completely that despite the looming due date, the baby had remained a mainly theoretical being. Louisa's expanding body had been evidence that SOMETHING was happening but it had been abstract, at least for me. But now; now the baby, our SON was here and he was a perfect living breathing human being, a tiny little person and I was overwhelmed with emotions that I couldn't quite identify.

Louisa was making her first attempt to feed the baby, under the watchful guidance of a bossy midwife, who spoke to her like a mentally deficient five year old. I was torn in so many directions – should I banish the midwife and give the lesson myself, knowing only theoretically what was needed, or should I remove myself entirely and give Louisa the privacy a new mother might want at this delicate moment? It seemed indecent for me, still here on sufferance alone, to look at her, to touch her as the midwife would to guide her. In the end neither seemed quite right and I ended up acting the imbecile and shouting suggestions over my shoulder as I pointedly turned my back to avoid intruding on her personal space. A wholly unsatisfactory outcome.

When the midwife had gone, I settled in the chair, holding the baby. It was an amazing feeling to hold him against my chest and feel his steady breathing and see his tiny fingers curl. His skin was smooth and warm and almost translucent in places. A marvel. I still felt like I might drop him and shatter him at any moment, but for now he seemed to be content.

Louisa started in about naming him and I realised this was only the first of a laundry list of topics we had never discussed while awaiting his arrival. I had no idea what she had planned. I was relieved that she was asking my opinion but the concept was so new, I had nothing to suggest. I wasn't opposed to David exactly, but I was blindsided by her intimation that the baby's surname would be Glasson. Never in all the months I had known of the baby's existence did it occur to me that he wouldn't be an Ellingham. It reminded me once again of my tenuous position in this fledgling family. And even as I surreptitiously watched the clock, thinking of the long journey to London awaiting me tonight or early in the morning, I also couldn't tear myself away.

"Thank you, Louisa."

"What are you thanking me for, Martin? I haven't done anything."

"Yes, yes you have. Thank you for him. Thank you for letting me be here. I know you didn't want me involved, that you wanted to do this all by yourself. And I can't blame you. I mean, I'm no one's idea of proper father material."

"Well you're equally responsible for his being here, so I suppose I need to thank you too. Without you, I wouldn't be anyone's mum either. And I never said I didn't want you to be involved, I just said you didn't have to be involved. I mean the first thing you mentioned when I came back was an abortion. That wasn't exactly the reaction you'd expect from someone who was dying to be a father."

I was floored at this admission. It had seemed abundantly clear to me that she wanted to exclude me from his life from day one. But as I sat here with the baby in my arms, I allowed myself for the first time to think that perhaps I had misjudged her intentions.

"Don't hold that against me, Louisa. I didn't mean I wanted you to have one. I was just shocked and overwhelmed. And since you couldn't bear to see me, couldn't even bear to be in the same village as me, it was very hard to believe you'd want to have my child."

"Well, I never expected to find you'd moved on into another relationship so quickly. I mean I didn't have the right to expect you to be waiting for me to come back exactly, but finding you having a cozy tête-à-tête with . .. with THAT WOMAN surprised me more than I can say. And if you had moved on like that, it didn't seem like you'd want to be saddled with obligations to me and to our baby, not if you were planning a future with her."

I was stunned. "What are you talking about? I wasn't planning a future with anyone. I hadn't moved on." I looked at her closely, trying to suss out what she was on about. "I still haven't been able to move on."

"What about Edith Montgomery?"

Before I could probe this ridiculous suggestion, we were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat.

"Dr. Ellingham?" An insidious stranger in a surgeon's blue scrubs was standing at the foot of the bed. In two minutes the happiest day of my life was turned upside down.

X X X X X

As I raced after the surgeon I tried desperately to push away the emotional reaction to the news of Auntie Joan's accident and focus on the needs of a surgical patient. She's seventy-one, menopausal, with osteoporosis and blood pressure higher than I would have liked. Overweight but otherwise quite fit from her farm work. A strong heart, I kept telling myself, a strong heart and good genes.

Seeing her on the operating table was another matter. She was so pale and frail-looking. As a matter of professional courtesy they allowed me to scrub in as an observer, but my pleas to be included on the vascular team were denied all the way up to the top.

I walked into the theater in my scrubs and mask and took her hand between my gloved ones. I could see Pitts working to get a handle on the lacerations to her liver and another surgeon I didn't know personally trying to realign her shattered pelvis so that the severed arteries could be repaired. They wouldn't let me as much as retract for them. As I looked at the shattered bones, I cursed myself for not treating the osteoporosis more aggressively. If only her bones had been stronger.

I rubbed her hand slightly. Pull through, Auntie Joan, you've got to. There's someone upstairs whom you need to meet.

When the aenesthetist yelled that her blood pressure had plummeted and I saw the blood pooling in her abdominal cavity, I knew she was lost. I shouted at Pitts to get someone to put another clamp on the hypogastric artery as she was bleeding out. They pushed another liter of blood and yet I could see it would not be enough. As I watched her vital signs on the monitor I could see that nothing would be enough. Unless the bleeding stopped she would be dead within moments. I had a grip on her hand as Pitts shouted "get him out of here!" The circulating nurse prised my hand off of Auntie Joan's and I was forcibly removed to the glassed in gallery. From there I watched him declare her death at nine- thirty seven p.m. on July 14, a date I would always remember.

X X X X X

I had to see Pauline next. The rage and despair had to be pushed aside for the needs of another patient. The burn team had dressed her wounds and called Al for her. When I walked into her cubicle, she burst into tears. I was at a loss as I always am when confronted with a weeping woman. I patted her hand and thanked her for getting Auntie Joan out of the truck, saving her the horror of death by fire. I checked Pauline's dressings and instructed the ward sister to find someone who could order her a sedative. I said goodnight when Al arrived, accepting condolences I didn't want from both of them.

When I was back upstairs, I peered in the cot at my sleeping son. I was determined he would not bear a burden of responsibility for Joan's death. I vowed he would never be told that she'd died on her way to meet him.

I heard Louisa's soft breathing from her bed. My heart ached watching her sleep, something I hadn't had the privilege of doing in nearly nine months. She looked so beautiful it broke what was left of my heart. I put my head in my hands; it was filled with burdens to heavy to bear.

To be continued . . .


	2. Who's Crying Now

**Little Boy Blue**

**Chapter 2 – Who's Crying Now?**

I woke suddenly at dawn in the chair beside Louisa's bed. I was sad and disoriented and stiff from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. I had one thought in my mind and that was the chaos that undoubtedly would be unfolding at Havenhurst Farm without Joan. Chickens cackling, dog barking, tourists looking for their breakfast. Just the idea of sorting that out was overwhelming.

Louisa looked like a lovely Madonna in a hospital gown. She was smiling and her face lit up as she tended to the baby. She exuded confidence and maternal love like I had never seen before. She deftly changed a wet nappy while nattering away in a sweet voice to our fractious boy. It raised a lump in my throat to think about what I would be missing when I returned to London.

As I bent to kiss the baby, I couldn't help myself from brushing her cheek with my lips as well. I was fighting a losing battle trying to convince myself I could live without her. You couldn't call what I had been doing for the last eight months living.

X X X X X

I approached the farm with the intention of expeditiously seeing to its inhabitants and moving on. I was not prepared for the blow it would be to arrive without Joan's cheery welcome and to know that she was gone for good. I had been coming, coming home really, to this farm for the entire forty-five years of my life. And it was unrecognizable without her presence, her warmth, her – her love. Walking through the empty house was nearly unbearable. There were signs everywhere of life senselessly interrupted. The post she would never read in the box. The water she would never boil in the kettle. The book by her chair, her place marked with a crewel-work bookmark indicating that she would never know who the murderer was.

Fortunately, she had no bed and breakfast guests for me to deal with. I fed the dog and the chickens, took the post in, and made a pot of tea. I had calls to make, difficult and daunting calls.

X X X X X

By mid-morning I had battened down the hatches at the farm, contacted the undertaker and tentatively made plans with the vicar for a funeral on Tuesday morning. The cemetery had the records of the plot next to Uncle Phil's. The solicitor had her Will in hand. I felt exhausted and unbelievably melancholy. And there was a new ache, one I hadn't felt before and I realised quite suddenly that I was missing my son.

I turned the car towards Truro and the hospital, and after a brief detour to purchase a baby seat for the car and a call to the burn ward to check on Pauline, I found myself making my way to Louisa's room on the fourth floor. I was eager, almost desperate, to see Louisa and the baby, knowing as I did that my time was limited before I had to leave them and head to London. I resolved to make the most of it.

X X X X X

Bringing the baby home was a momentous occasion, and I was relieved and elated to able to witness it. And it was a good thing I was there, for there was a great deal of scrambling to do to get him settled. Louisa had received plenty of nappies and blankets and sleepers as gifts at the baby shower but nothing had been organised or made ready yet for his homecoming. And although I knew that a newborn would be needy, I hadn't ever experienced the practical details of caring for a baby. Within the first hour, he had peed on my tie, spit-up on my jacket, and evacuated his bowels all over my trousers. I made a note to dig out a rubber apron like the ones we had used in medical school to keep my suits from living at the dry cleaners.

Our son had healthy lungs, that much was evident. We hadn't yet ascertained which was the hungry cry or the wet cry or the tired cry. We cuddled him and walked the floor with him and fed him and changed him and still he cried. By the end of the evening, Louisa looked like she might cry too. I couldn't blame her as I was nearing the end of my tether as well.

My experience at Joan's that morning had been emotionally challenging for me, and I was certain I would get no sleep if I turned in there. Louisa had graciously acceded to my request to stop the night with her. When I had finally screwed up my courage to ask her, I hadn't been thinking very clearly and as we climbed the stairs with the sleeping baby in his basket, I now realised that I had walked into a minefield as there was only one bed.

Louisa and I had spent the night together before, of course, during our engagement. And faced with her bed, dressed in the familiar red sheets, I couldn't help but be reminded of those enchanted evenings. Even overhearing her night-time routine through the lavatory door struck a chord with me.

I opened my overnight case, which had been packed under the assumption that I might not have unloaded all my belongings the first night in London, and took out pyjamas and toiletries. They were my least favorite pyjamas, the last ones in the drawer as I had packed. I heard Louisa cleaning her teeth, so I changed and sat down on the bed to watch the baby sleep. He was almost another person when he was sleeping instead of wailing. I took Louisa's challenge to heart and really tried to determine whether he looked like a David.

Louisa seemed startled but not overtly unhappy when she came back into the room and saw me sitting there. I was grateful she said nothing, but just slid into bed. The left side, of course. I remembered that much; I had automatically gone to the right side of the bed when I entered the room. It seemed so natural to embrace her when she was beside me; the feel of her in my arms was achingly familiar and poignant. The last time she and I were together in this bed may very well have been the night our son was conceived. She didn't pull away from my embrace. I spooned behind her and let my hand rest lightly on the duvet over her hip. I smiled to myself as I heard the faint sound of a snore. I wondered how that sound ever could have bothered me before.

**X X X X X**

Sunday sped by with alacrity, taken up with meetings with the vicar and the undertaker and the farmer who'd bought Mrs. Steele's farm and who had agreed to take over the farm chores for the time being. I called reached my Aunt Ruth and she thankfully took on the task of informing my father of their sister's death.

When I arrived back at Louisa's, I discovered that Joan's infernal dog had stowed away in the back seat. It was a nuisance to drive him all the way back to the farm, but I simply can't abide dogs, and the idea of the dog being anywhere near the baby was simply abhorrent. Louisa seemed to be laughing at my expense on this one but I intended to stand my ground.

From the kitchen window, we watched the commotion caused by the new doctor setting up shop in the surgery across the way. It was going to be so strange seeing that building with a new occupant. Although I was eager to get back to London and to my surgical career and had been waiting anxiously for the day of my departure, somehow I still felt possessive about my old home and my old job.

About four we got the baby to go down for a nap. Louisa was working on the laundry and I started preparations for dinner. Once again she started in on the issue of the baby's name. She had apparently given up on David, which was fine with me. She had tried calling him Marty during the course of the afternoon, but particularly since Joan was on my mind, I kept thinking she was speaking to me.

"Martin, what if we named him after Joan?" She had a bright look on her face; I could tell she was really trying to be accommodating.

"Joan? For a boy?"

"Well a variation. John, maybe?"

I immediately thought of John Slater and Joan's love for him. I shook my head at the thought of stirring that gossip up again. "I like John but we can't use it. Not to honor Joan. There would be . . . gossip. Jonah? Would that be better?"

"God, no. Not in a fishing village. He'd hear no end of teasing about his whale."

"Hmm. Hadn't thought of that. We could call him after you – Louis. I like that one."

"Like Marty, I think it would be too confusing to have Louis and Louisa in the same house."

Before we could go on any further, our unnamed son began squalling and the task was once again set aside.

X X X X

Monday afternoon I stopped in the chemist's to pick up a few necessary items for myself and some additional baby care supplies. Since Louisa had stopped in the dress shop looking for something funereal, I had the baby with me. It seemed like half the village was shopping at that particular moment, and it took a great deal of forbearance to wait in line with strangers prattling on annoyingly about the baby, about Aunt Joan and about Louisa and me. I was almost relieved when the local constable came dashing in, urging me to accompany him up to the surgery.

He was not making coherent sense as we ran up the hill, but that was nothing new for him. I had to wait until we arrived at the surgery to discover just what the accident had been and who my patient was. I should have known it would be the new doctor; for anyone else Penhale would have called her instead of me.

The new doctor was a middle aged woman of unhealthy proportions with ginger hair and a spotty face. She was sprawled unconscious on the slate walk beside the surgery. A ladder stood beside her, evidence of the source of her fall, with a large canvas banner draped around it. I could see immediately that she was bleeding and not breathing properly.

I handed the baby to Penhale to keep both of them out of the way and shouted to the doctor's husband, who was wringing his hands and generally being a nuisance, to call for an ambulance. I asked one of the other patients to see if she could go back in the surgery and find the doctor's bag.

My patient was cyanotic and had the classic symptoms of a pneumothorax. As I palpated the chest it became clear that she had broken several broken ribs and had a flail chest too. I suspected the broken bones had punctured the lung and caused its collapse. I used a syringe and other supplies from her bag to create enough suction get her breathing again and put her on oxygen. She was pinking up again by the time the ambulance arrived, but recovery from that kind of injury would take a while. I was relieved to turn her over to the EMTs. I suspected they would discover she had other broken bones – she appeared to have fallen from ten feet up. What a woman of her age and girth was doing on a ladder was beyond me.

What I wasn't prepared for was the crowd that had gathered while I worked. I should have guessed – Portwenn never changes much and any commotion is cause for a gathering of the gossip mongers and general malingerers about town. I caught a glimpse of Louisa with Penhale and the baby as I was escorted back into the surgery by patients requiring medical attention. It wouldn't be fair to leave them untreated because of the monumental stupidity of my successor. As I went back in, I took a moment to look at the banner. "Portwenn Surgery – Grand Re-Opening". How very grand indeed.

X X X X X

The morning of the funeral I awoke slowly, savoring the feeling of being here, being in Louisa's bed with my arm around her body and my face buried in the silky curtain of her hair. Although the room should have been unfamiliar, somehow being here felt like home, with the soft sounds of sleepy breathing from Louisa on one side of me and the baby in his bassinet on the other. I knew I belonged in London, where everything was waiting for me. But I couldn't help feeling like London would be the place that felt foreign to me now.

When the baby started to fuss, I gently picked him up and carried him out of the room. Best to let Louisa get whatever sleep she could – she bore the brunt of the interrupted nights because there was little I could do to help when he wanted to feed. But now I could bathe him and change him while giving her a chance to rest a few more minutes. He'd be hungry soon enough and then she'd have no choice but to waken.

The funeral was an ordeal. I was quite relieved when it was over. At least at the church I wasn't required to speak individually to each member of the congregation. It was worse at the luncheon at Bert's restaurant. I grew weary and short-tempered answering questions about my Aunt and her accident, my job in London, my son and his lack of a name, all the while my head and my heart were dwelling on Joan and the fact that she was gone.

Very few of the mourners held any interest for me, but I did manage a brief chat with Chris Parsons. He had heard from Doctor Dibbs and besides her pneumothorax, she also had shattered her wrist. She'd been through surgery last night in Truro. They were estimating six months before she would be able to return to practice. Chris then made a proposition that caused me to stop in my tracks. Would I be willing to cover in Portwenn for her if he could get an American surgeon he knew was keen to come to London to cover for me at Imperial. Visiting surgeon at Imperial was a prestigious position that doctors would clamor to claim, while visiting GP in Portwenn was a post that would typically go begging. I promised to think about it.

It was such a relief when Louisa gestured for me to follow her outside. She gave me the baby to cuddle and I was eternally grateful for her understanding that public wailing was not my style of grieving.

As we walked slowly back to her house, I brought up my conversation with Chris.

"How would you feel if I stayed in Portwenn for a bit? It would give me a chance to sort things out at the farm and give you a hand with the baby."

"Well I'd be happy to have you in Portwenn if you are happy being here. But what about London, Imperial? You worked so hard getting over your phobia. Will they hold the job in London for you?"

"Chris thinks he can persuade them. Paradoxically, it is apparently easier to find a temporary vascular surgeon than a GP willing to come to Portwenn for six months. He thinks he can get some American to come over and cover at Imperial if I agree."

"Well that would be wonderful."

"If you're sure you won't be unhappy about this, I'll call Chris in the morning."

"As long as you're happy, I'll be happy."

Her answer made me happier than I could have imagined. Although the prospect of six more months of the exasperating inhabitants of Portwenn was a good deal to swallow, I was certain it would be more than made up for by six months with Louisa and the baby. A new chance to get it right. I kissed her gently as we turned the corner away from the main road – emboldened by the possibility that we would be together in some fashion for the next few months. In my head, the wheels were turning as I contemplated the prospect of persuading Louisa to accompany me to London when my stint here was done. Six months ought to be long enough to persuade her.

I was jolted out of my reverie by the realization that we were not alone. I was caught completely off guard when Louisa looked at the woman perched on a suitcase by the front door and said, incredulously, "Mum?"

To be continued . . .


	3. Sweet Child O'Mine

**Little Boy Blue**

**Chapter 3 – Sweet Child O'Mine**

It WAS Louisa's house, I kept telling myself. Her house, her mum, her decision. However unhappy I was at having an interloper in our midst, I kept reminding myself that I would not make friends with Louisa by ousting her mother. But the woman was beyond irritating and I was making a supreme effort to hold my tongue. I wondered if Louisa had noticed my good behavior.

When Eleanor came up with Carlos as a name, I was on my last nerve. I had disliked her on sight, and nothing she was doing was changing my opinion. I looked over at Louisa and was surprised but relieved to see that she looked as annoyed and upset as I felt. It was empowering to conclude that for once Louisa and I were on the same page. I didn't trust myself to speak without exploding but I did have a plan.

It may have been selfish but I wasn't ready to share Louisa and the baby, not now. We had just come to a tentative truce, agreeing to live together and care for our son for the six months I would remain in Portwenn. The upheaval we'd been through since I packed up the surgery on Friday morning was enormous and adding Louisa's long lost and apparently flaky parent to the mix threatened to disrupt our delicate balance. I was determined to keep that from occurring.

When I rang the pub and enquired about the availability of a room, the smart -aleck landlord suggested that Louisa had come to her senses and thrown me out.

"We've had a pool going on down here on just how long you'd last. I think Harvey had today so it'll be his round." I heard uproarious laughter in the background, which grated on me as it usually did.

"Book the room under Glasson. Eleanor Glasson. I'll pay for a week in advance." I smiled smugly to myself as I heard his laughter die down.

I came back into the room just as Louisa was preparing to feed the baby. I didn't think it proper for her mother to witness me ogling her daughter, so I quickly averted my eyes. Louisa seemed frustrated and I wasn't sure with whom.

"Martin, for heaven's sake. I am not going to be embarrassed about feeding my child in my own home."

"No, no of course not." I didn't want to embarrass her, but I once again I had misjudged which course of action, watching her or not watching her, would upset her. It reminded me of how far we had to go before we would be entirely comfortable around each other.

"Mrs. Glasson."

"Call me Eleanor, dear. We're family. Or practically, anyhow."

That was a disgusting thought. Best get rid of her while I still can.

"Mrs. Glasson have you got your case?"

"Yes, it's right there by the door. Are you taking it somewhere?"

"Yes. I've just been on the phone with Mark down at the pub. I've booked you in for a week. It is all arranged. If you have your bag, I will carry it over for you."

I was quite pleased to see the look of relief that crept over Louisa's face as I took her mother's suitcase and headed out the door.

X X X X X

Word got around quickly in Portwenn, faster than Norwalk virus on a cruise ship. Despite the fact that it was the day after Auntie Joan's funeral and that my official decision to accept the job as a locum in Portwenn had been conveyed to the PCT only this morning, there was a queue at the surgery door when I arrived at eight-thirty. It was going to be a long day, I could see.

As the morning progressed, I became increasingly frustrated. I had coped before without Pauline, at least for short periods, but somehow between the grief, the lack of sleep and the fact that in my mind I was supposed to be performing surgery, I was finding it exceedingly difficult to manage on my own. The telephone was ringing, interrupting my examinations, patients in the reception area were arguing over who was next on my list, and every bloody one of them had an opinion about the funeral, my job in London, Doctor Dibbs or my son's name.

Louisa's arrival with the baby at half-ten was a welcome interruption, as was the cup of tea she brought me when I finished with Mr. Isaacs, a farmhand with a nasty cut on his hand that required nine stitches. I was relieved to have made it through the procedure without vomiting which boded well for my return to surgery. I drank my tea and had a visit with my sleeping son; an oasis of calm in the chaos that was the surgery.

When Louisa offered to answer the telephone and man the front desk while the baby slept, I was torn. I firmly believed she ought to be home with the baby. Best for her and best for him. If I encouraged her to work in the surgery now, only a few days post-partum, it would be hard to object when she wanted to return to teaching. On the other hand, I was desperate for the help. In the end I acquiesced, while admitting that this very well might have been an exceedingly bad decision.

X X X X X

I was more than surprised to see Aunt Ruth sail past me into the consulting room when I escorted my last scheduled patient back to the reception area. Louisa gave me a curious look, indicating she had no better idea than I did what my aunt was here about.

"Martin, I've been to the solicitor," she began without ceremony as I re-entered the room and walked over to my desk. "That bloody woman has left me the farm." She waved a sheaf of papers at me as she took a seat.

"Yes, I knew that."

"You did? Why on earth would she do that? And why didn't you tell me? I always figured she would leave it to you."

"Auntie Joan knew what she was doing." I remembered the conversation vividly. She'd discovered why my father had stopped hounding her for the value of half of the farm and come to thank me. She told me she was planning to change her Will to leave the farm to me, but I'd stopped her. I already had a house in Portwenn, I told her. Aunt Ruth had a poky flat in London, and for the life of me I had never known why Dad's Uncle had excluded Ruth from the gift of the farm at his death to begin with. I had assured Joan that I was more than able to take care of my own financial needs and urged her to provide for Ruth first. Since Ruth was the elder sister, it hadn't seemed likely that Joan would die first in any case.

"Well what am I going to do with a farm? I have work waiting for me, my flat, my friends."

"Well if you don't want it, you can sell it. Muriel Steele had no trouble selling her farm when she moved to the care home last year. I believe Joan thought you might want a quiet place after you retire."

At that moment, while Aunt Ruth sputtered about having the energy of people half her age, I heard the baby crying from the kitchen. It was getting louder and I wondered what was going on.

"Is there some reason you don't like Portwenn?" I asked her, distractedly, my eyes automatically going to the doorway leading to my kitchen.

At that moment, the baby's crying became howls of what sounded like pain, and I could bear it no longer. I strode out of the consulting room to the kitchen in alarm. When I got there, I saw that Louisa was struggling to burp him. She looked grateful when I took him from her arms. As she poured tea for Aunt Ruth and me, I patted his back and was rewarded with an enormous belch and a great deal of regurgitated breast-milk besides. Looking with distaste at my spoiled jacket, I handed the baby back to Louisa and began searching for a clean tea towel or a kitchen roll to clean myself up.

"Well, really, Martin. Just look at that mess on your suit."

"It's fine, Auntie Ruth."

"Mark my words, you're coddling that baby. Really, Martin. Children should be seen and not heard. That's what we said in my day."

"I hardly think . . ." Louisa protested. I could see that she had her dander up.

"Not a way to run a practice. Not with a squalling infant drowning out what the patients have to say."

"Just a minute . . ." Even if she was my elder, I had no intention of putting up with this from my aunt.

"If you cuddle him when he cries, it will just teach him to cry more. Better to ignore him."

Louisa was livid – in full mother-bear mode. "He is less than a week old. Time enough for lessons in deportment when he gets older. Right now, my priority, and Martin's, is to assure him that he is safe and that he is loved."

"Auntie Ruth, I think you'd better be going. Louisa and I need to clear up here and get the baby home. I'll ring you tomorrow after I've had a chance to read the papers from the solicitor."

I took the teacup out of her hand and ushered her to the kitchen door, ignoring her rising indignation.

"You'll regret raising the child this way. Only unhappiness follows when the child rules the home."

"Horrid old bat," I muttered as I shut the door behind her.

"I'm relieved you don't agree with her, her, her METHODS, Martin."

As I cuddled the baby, I could only marvel at how lucky my son was to have the loving Louisa as his mother. I was determined to spare my child the pains of my own upbringing.

"No. Her methods are far too close to those of my parents."

X X X X X

We discussed the names again over supper. I proposed Simon and she countered with Matthew. I suggested Benjamin which she rejected in favor of Julian. She didn't like Gavin or Toby or Stephen and I wasn't fond of Max or Aidan or Tyler. We appeared to be at impasse.

It was after midnight when I was called out to attend to Mrs. Ash, whose respiratory infection had developed into cough variant asthma. I berated myself for not picking it up this afternoon when she was at the surgery and cursed again as I traipsed back and forth across the village from Louisa's house to the surgery to the patient's home, back to the surgery for the nebulizer, then back to Mrs. Ash before making my way home near two a.m.

When I arrived back at the house, Louisa was awake and settling in to nurse the baby. This time she urged me not to go away and I accepted her invitation to stay at her side. The human body is a marvelous thing. I was instantly engrossed, forgetting my earlier reticence. I could hear his greedy swallows and watch his cheeks as he suckled. I felt as if I were witnessing something miraculous.

No matter how hard I tried, I was not able to suppress a reaction to Louisa either. Having her so near, my hand on her shoulder, our heads bent together over our son, was such an unbelievably intimate moment. Being here with her filled a hole I hadn't known I had inside. I wasn't sure how I had existed before I met her, nor what I would do if we had to be parted again. I simply had to persuade her to join me in London.

Before I brought up London, though, I had another favor to ask of her. As we discussed my visit to Mrs. Ash, I raised the possibility of us moving to the surgery, at least for the duration of my stay. I wasn't sure how Louisa would take it. Living at the surgery would make my life easier, but I would only be able to make this work with her cooperation. She made me a very happy man when she agreed.

X X X X

I went through the day somnambulantly, somehow managing the surgery without assistance from Pauline or Louisa. I resolved to post a notice about a new receptionist as soon as possible. I hoped that Louisa had gone off the idea of working while caring for an infant.

During the day Louisa had packed up a few things to move to the surgery. When I closed up shop, I loaded the car with the suitcases, the bassinet, a box of provisions and a few other bits and pieces. Going up to London to retrieve a few of my own things from the new flat was going to be top priority for the weekend, but we had enough to be comfortable for a few days at least.

It was both strange and familiar to be back in the surgery kitchen cooking supper for Louisa. I'd cooked for her before, of course; I couldn't help remembering how flustered I had been the first time. What a dolt I'd been – dropping her engagement ring directly into the peas.

We'd had other encounters over the years in the surgery kitchen that came to mind as well, some more memorable than others. I smiled at the recollection of the evening we'd drunk wine together here – and of how mortified I had been the next day when we met. I deserved the slap she gave me. And I would be haunted forever by the image of her in her wedding gown, coming to tell me she wasn't going to go through with it.

The baby's cries interrupted our supper. A new nappy did not improve his mood and he didn't seem interested in eating. I knew Louisa had spent the whole day trying to soothe him, so I took him and walked the floor in circles – from the kitchen to the sitting room, through to the surgery waiting area, then back around to the kitchen. I murmured to him, requesting, and then pleading for his cooperation. I jiggled him and bounced him and still he cried.

"Maybe he wants you, Louisa," I said, helplessly. I hoped he was ready to eat now. But even as I watched her settle in, I could see that he had no interest. He arched away from Louisa and squalled.

"Martin, is he alright? It seems odd that he isn't eating."

"He isn't feverish. Let me examine his belly."

A basic examination revealed no obvious medical reason for the baby's distress. "I think it may be colic, Louisa. Not much we can do for that but wait it out."

I watched as Louisa cuddled our son and tried to quiet him and had an idea. I retrieved the book I had been reading from my attaché case and started reading aloud. Reynolds & Tansley's book on _Platelets in Thrombosis_ was fascinating to me, and I felt it was deserving of its accolades. When Louisa protested that it was an inappropriate choice for reading to an infant, I reminded her that he was really too young to know what I was saying anyhow.

It surprised me, but the reading did seem to soothe him somewhat. The baby didn't stop crying altogether but he did seem less frantic. Gradually he seemed to calm down. The effect was immediately lost, however, the moment we tried to set him down in his bassinet.

With a sigh we traded places – Louisa read something about the solar system aimed at eight year olds while I cuddled him. We tried putting him in the Moses basket and the pram and the car seat. We even put the car seat on top of the clothes dryer and turned it on, a dubious suggestion and one that didn't work in any event. I was willing to try most things, but I demurred at Louisa's suggestion that I strip off my shirt and cuddle the baby next to my skin. That seemed outrageous and wholly inappropriate, even though there was a part of me that wondered how it would feel.

The baby was still crying at midnight. Louisa was on the verge of tears herself and looked completely knackered. I suggested we move things up to the bedroom so that we could at least recline while we rocked him.

She tried to nurse again while I went to the lavatory to prepare for bed. When I came out I was distressed to see how upset Louisa had become. Apparently he was no more interested in eating now than he had been at nine. Crying wouldn't hurt the baby, but tolerating it was certainly not doing Louisa any good.

I was desperate for inspiration. All my medical education and experience was of very little use in solving this difficulty, and seeing the baby and Louisa in such a state was tearing me up.

My eyes lit on the clock radio on the bedside table. Music has charms to soothe the savage breast, doesn't it? While I wouldn't call my son a savage, exactly, perhaps it would soothe him too.

"Music?" I asked her

She nodded. "It's worth a try."

The first station was playing a Wagnerian opera and the next had a weather report. I was doubtful that either of these would do the trick. I scrolled past something that sounded like Arabic and Procul Harem's Whiter Shade of Pale, neither of which seemed to placate the baby. I was about to give up hope when I heard a quiet, deep voice singing with a guitar. Louisa's eyes lit up so I stopped turning the dial. As the man sang about the cowboy and his horse, the baby's howls quieted to soft mewls and then to mere hiccups. As he reached the chorus, my son was nestling his little head against his mother's shoulder and appeared to relax.

_Goodnight you moonlight ladies  
>Rockabye sweet baby James<br>Deep greens and blues are the colours I choose  
>Won't you let me go down in my dreams<br>And rockabye sweet baby James_

Louisa and I were both stunned. We each put a hand on his back, as if to assure ourselves that he was still breathing and that he really was, at last, asleep. Our eyes met and I wondered if Louisa was thinking the same thing I was.

As the song finished, we carefully tucked him into his bassinet. Each of us touched him gently. "James," we said together, "your name is James."

**The End**

_Thanks to the kind souls who have been reading and reviewing for putting up with my flight of fancy. You may now return to your regular programming._


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